


Knew the Words

by bold_seer



Category: Twin Peaks
Genre: Alternate Timelines, Ambiguity, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:40:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,625
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28087875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bold_seer/pseuds/bold_seer
Summary: Into the future, some other place.
Relationships: Chet Desmond & Albert Rosenfield, Chet Desmond & Harry Truman
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Knew the Words

1\. Albert, 1987 – Seattle, unknown investigation

Damn rain, glued the suit to his ankles and knees, robbing him of his last shreds of dignity. Albert’s mind was full of bitter remarks, which he didn’t share, for once, while they drove past a movie theatre. He glimpsed a double feature – _Gilda_ and _Laura_ – but the rain distorted the view, and then they were too far to look back.

Albert’s deep frown deepened. The rain drummed against the windows. It teased at long-forgotten memories, images in black and white, characters appearing, disappearing, reappearing, as the story unfolded – or got more wrinkly. He touched his forehead. There was something else behind it. A headache that hadn’t arrived.

Desmond glanced at him and said, mildly, “The ring clues.”

_What._

“The right clues,” Desmond repeated in that sleepy, faraway voice, which at least made sense. “Think they lead on the wrong track?”

It was the wrong way. Dead end, they were going nowhere. Turning towards Albert, Desmond reversed the car, in easy routine. He was another one whose pieces didn’t fit. Blue-collar blue, lean and hard edges, but his words were soft and quiet. That was Gordon’s team, all right. Misfits, every one of them, even Cooper – him most of all. Searching for missing explanations. Wanting to prove themselves by proving the impossible, solving the mystery.

“Wrong assignment,” Albert grumbled, thinking of South America. Unlike Seattle, Buenos Aires had adequate coffee, superior music and weather. He hated this state.

Later he would return to the thought with inexplicable guilt, to a crime scene, if only in his mind. But Albert didn’t have a blueprint of the future. Gordon’s intel. Jeffries’ theories. Cooper’s visions, guiding him, drawing him towards (or away from) whatever dark fate awaited around the corner. Not Chet’s instincts either. Albert confronted violence by handling the remains, what was left after everyone else had made a mess of things, because _someone_ had to. Be there, a witness to recall the men who’d disappeared, women who’d lost their lives.

(Elsewhere: women were lost. Men erased themselves.)

The rain followed them, as they drove onwards. Into the future, some other place.

...

2\. Harry, 1989 (1) – Twin Peaks, Sheriff’s Department, disappearance of Dale Cooper

“He was just gone,” Harry repeated. From the outside, the station was a shining, bright beacon in the blue dusk. Home for Harry, or it had been. Inside, emptiness clung to the walls. Harry had become used to a present where Coop belonged, which was now the past. He didn’t know how, what to do without him.

The wound had closed, but the echo of it remained, beating steadily. It had once existed. Harry had hurt. There wasn’t any bandage for past pain, which drinking only dulled. Harry didn’t drink, not much, or enough, not sure he wanted it dulled. Didn’t want to forget, whatever they’d shared, him and Cooper.

They hadn’t known each other that long. And yet, having known Coop for a too-short while, it had proved impossible to imagine a world without him. It was a colder, darker, more depressing place than the one Harry remembered, full of light and warmth.

Agent Desmond was watching him, understanding on his face. Did all FBI agents look the same, Harry wondered. Different from anyone in Twin Peaks.

“You know him? Coop.” Harry knew it wasn’t him. If Twin Peaks had been affected by Coop’s appearance and disappearance, the FBI must have felt it. Still he needed the confirmation. “Cooper.” Harry could pretend there was professional detachment. He couldn’t make himself say _knew_ , past tense.

Desmond inclined his head, said something about making a call. Finding something, someone.

Albert, Harry guessed. But there wasn’t a body. There wasn’t anything, any clues. Closure. Any ease.

No, Desmond indicated with the subtlest motion. Not Albert.

...

3\. Chet, 1988 – Twin Peaks, Sheriff’s Department, death of Teresa Banks

Agent Chet Desmond was leaning against a desk that wasn’t his, attention on his surroundings. Chet could be very observant, people missed that. His need to know, to follow up leads before they blew away, scattered in the wind – sometimes it meant getting burnt.

“Teresa,” Truman said, picking up his coffee. The dark green mug left a circle on his desk, evidence of a kind. In a moment, Chet had made the following observations: Sheriff Truman would rather have been outdoors. He was well liked, respected by his co-workers. There was a distance between him and the others, too. The sheriff turned to Chet, with expectation.

Banks, said Chet. Truman nodded, she wasn’t a local girl.

“That matter?” Sheriff Truman frowned, another questioning look. Chet continued, “Teresa Banks wasn’t from Twin Peaks.”

Truman shook his head, of course it didn’t. “Not sure I’m much help.” Chet figured an offer of help, at least of no hindrance, was better than a refusal. They were interrupted by a knock.

Deputy Hawk stepped in. Agent Desmond recognised him as another silent, shrewd man. He glanced between Truman and Chet, back to Truman, addressing him. “Laura Palmer’s here to see you.”

...

4\. Albert, 1989 (2) – Twin Peaks, Sheriff’s Department, Laura Palmer investigation

Chet Desmond never said much. Albert was brutally honest. Neither of them tolerated fools, which separated them from Jeffries and Gordon. (And Cooper, but Albert didn’t dwell on the past, wasn’t sentimental that way. Why give in to the hurt? Could as well use anger as fuel forward.)

Desmond was polite before the punch, if that meant anything. Albert was impolite, then the punch usually came. Which it now did from Truman. No surprise there.

Albert challenged Desmond to slow count. He ignored Truman resolutely, because violence didn’t deserve an answer. But Chet, studying the sheriff with amusement, ignored him. He was probably considering adding the punch to his repertoire. Some days, Albert was certain he starred (fine, played a supporting role) in a soap. Stories that dragged, reoccurring plots that never went anywhere, circled back to the start. Or people were that predictable and repetitive.

He threw another suspicious glare at Desmond, expected a big, elaborate joke at his own expense. The real joke was that Chet Desmond liked ( _liked_ ) Sheriff Truman, in his all-American, folksy, trigger-happy glory. He’d thought Desmond had taste. Still waters ran deep, hiding a rusty bicycle.

No one listened to Albert’s disapproval.

...

5\. Chet, 198x – Philadelphia, morgue, unknown investigation

In conversation, Chet’s right arm fell to his side, leaving the left one hovering in the air. He was wearing his suit, but something significant was missing. The ring, no _ring_.

“Not the marrying kind,” Albert commented, without glancing up from the body. “You like the guitar more than the girl, but there’s the boxing ring and your fellow man.”

With someone else, Chet might have rolled up his sleeves and taken it outside, hands-on and ready for action. This was mild for Albert, and not untrue.

Then he saw himself reaching forward. Was he falling? A seizure or hallucination, or a sudden, violent migraine. Never ill and rarely injured, Chet could function without food or sleep. Now swaying, the world spun. Turned black, knocked him out – when he opened his eyes, he was on the floor, against a wall, blinking at the ceiling. The lights of the morgue were too bright, obliterating suns in flames.

“Cut the caffeine for sleep.” Albert had stopped working. “Unless you’ve discovered an interest in competing with the best-looking remains in Philadelphia? Hit your head again, you’ll end up on my table.” There was no way back from that, even for Chet.

...

6\. Harry, 1989 (3) – Twin Peaks, Glastonbury Grove, disappearance of Dale Cooper, Annie Blackburn and Windom Earle

The forest flickered in anticipation, opened itself like a stage. In the mist, the bare trees let through a figure. Harry’s nails were blue, or purple, bruised from the cold. Without wasting a thought, he rushed forward.

“Sam,” the man mumbled. “Sam, I found it.” He took a step or two, then fell, practically into Harry’s arms. This wasn’t Coop, but it was someone who needed help. Harry needed to do something, be useful, help someone. Help himself.

Hours later, three people had been reported missing, gone with no new leads. Audrey Horne and Pete Martell were injured. And Harry, Harry was pacing the hospital floor. He hadn’t given up on Cooper. He wouldn’t. They would find help, would solve this. Right now, Harry was needed elsewhere, everywhere.

Beside him, Doctor Hayward exhaled, deep sigh. Tired from more than a busy hospital? Harry hadn’t asked. The doctor could tell him the patient was dehydrated and extremely tired, as if he suffered from an excess of caffeine and insomnia. He’d spoken clearly, though he hadn’t revealed his name. Maybe Harry wanted to guess what his mystery man had said. Harry raised an eyebrow.

“FBI.” Doc Hayward’s expression seemed to say, _you know how to pick them_.

...

7\. Albert, 1988 (2) – Philadelphia, FBI offices, disappearance of Phillip Jeffries

After Phillip Jeffries had disappeared (again), Albert hung up the phone, relaying the news that another agent was missing. Phillip’s words – _Who do you think this is there?_ – were forgotten. The ghosts of Albert’s news, of Gordon’s questions lingered. Then Chet Desmond walked into the Philadelphia office, punch line to a joke.

Cooper and Gordon had been busy watching TV, one screen, hadn’t noticed anyone else arriving. Nothing about Desmond suggested he’d flutter away like Jeffries. There was nothing anxious about Chet Desmond, who appeared as cool as his usual, laid-back self. He gave them a curious look, placing a hand on the nearest desk. Albert’s gaze fell on Desmond’s right wrist, on the watch. It was mirrored, but seemed to belong.

“Already gone places,” Chet murmured, to himself, as though he was quoting someone, repeating what they’d said.


End file.
